From Europe, With Love
by redcharcoal
Summary: Regina whisks Emma off to Europe on a trip that gets more and more baffling with every stop. This was written as a thanks for the 2000th review of The Staircase. Post-curse, established relationship. Crackfic and Humor.


**FROM EUROPE, WITH LOVE**  
**By Red Charcoal**

**Author's note:** This story is based on a prompt that I won't spoil by putting it at the start (see story's end). It was for 3-piece-suit being the 2000th reviewer of The Staircase. Apologies to anyone in the dozen European countries visited. Seriously - I know I'm not doing your country justice here, or rather, Regina isn't, so please just remember it's a silly OOC crackfic, OK? Sorry and thanks!

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Emma Swan stared up at the domed ceiling, dripping with gilt-edged opulence from every conceivable angle, and sighed. Again.

Her lips pursed as she watched her girlfriend of six years in conversation with a man in long black robes, a bright scarlet sash at his waist. She seemed transfixed. Of course she was. She hadn't stopped beaming from the moment they stepped off the plane in Europe for the first of their many stops.

Stops that were making less and less sense to the former bounty hunter. She glared at her watch. Had they really only been stuck here for an hour?

Finally Regina Mills returned to her side.

"Ready to go, dear?"

"I've been ready since we arrived," Emma grumbled.

"That's hardly the spirit. To think you once claimed to be adventurous."

Emma narrowed her eyes.

"For the love of God, Regina - and no pun intended - just tell me whyyyyyyy are we at the Vatican?!"

"You wanted to see the world, didn't you? Or was that a different Emma Swan who vowed to, and I quote 'Show you everything you've missed while being stuck in time in Storybrooke'. Well now, is not the Vatican part of the world?"

"Debatable."

"Excuse me?"

Emma scowled and lowered her voice to a hiss. "I know you're one of these geniuses at compartmentalization but need I remind you what pretty much everyone in this room, and probably the entire city, thinks of what you and I get up to between the sheets every other night?"

Regina gave a dismissive wave. "You overstate people's concern about such matters."

At Emma's disbelieving expression she added: "And, really, it's hardly relevant to the business at hand."

"Huh? Business? What business?"

"Come along, dear, or we'll miss the tour."

* * *

That night Emma sat on their hotel bed, removed her boots with a grunt and peeled off her socks. The day had been long, terrifyingly dazzling and completely boring. She knew she was no historical, theological or architectural hound, so watching Regina's face transform with wonder at the sights was pretty baffling.

Not to mention as strange as the rest of their European vacation.

When Regina had first suggested they take in the sights of Europe, Emma had jumped at the idea, eager to get some distance between herself and her never-endingly cooing parents. They would not stop talking about their beautiful new son, how smart he was, how advanced for his age, how, well, _everything_.

The kid was bloody perfection. Even Emma had to agree he was a little bundle of adorable. But still.

And, in their usual, clueless way, they hadn't even clocked for a minute how their enthusiasm would make their abandoned first child feel.

Oh Emma had smiled in all the right places, agreed to his brilliance in all the right ways and then floored it over to Regina's at the first opportunity, citing a need for hard liquor of the cider variety. To this day, she had no real clue why she had chosen the doorstep of the town's former evil queen to darken.

Regina, instead of laughing in her face or slamming the door, had understood everything before she'd even told her. She just gave her a knowing snort and stepped back from the door, pointing to the liquor cabinet. Turned out Regina Mills, more than anyone, knew what it was like to feel shut out from a family.

That long night of drinking, bitching and, finally, confessing on both sides had made Emma realize just how much Regina mattered to her. Her traces of warmth and wit, usually well hidden, had revealed themselves in the small hours. As had her wicked sense of humor. And, much, much later, her tortured past.

As the sun had come up, with Emma's sore, tired head drooping against Regina shoulder, she decided they were two broken souls who belonged together.

So her escapes to the mayoral mansion had gone from never to once a month to twice a week, to nightly.

And then one Friday night she didn't go home. She simply followed Regina to her bedroom, offering a heartfelt look of longing, her fingers trembling as they rose to cup the other woman's cheek. The brunette had given her a small, lonely smile mingled with something else. Something dark and heated.

Emma had whispered only two words, "Please, Regina", and that had been all the discussion needed.

Two months, and no further discussion later, she'd one day just moved her leather jackets next to Regina's mayoral power suits in the master bedroom wardrobe. Not that Regina was still officially mayor since the curse had ended, but she'd kept her wardrobe up. And, unofficially, she still did the job to keep the town from falling over. Not that anyone deigned to notice or thank her.

Henry had taken it all in his stride when he threw open Regina's bedroom's door one lazy Sunday morning to discover both his mothers cuddled up in each other's arms. He'd merely cocked an eyebrow - eerily like Regina's famous expression - and headed off downstairs to make his own breakfast.

So much for having The Talk.

It had taken almost three months for Emma's parents to notice she'd completely moved out. By then any buried resentments had evaporated under the warm, soft hands and loving tongue of Regina Mills. She'd never felt so wanted in her life. She knew the feeling was mutual.

That had been six years ago. Little, perfect, adorable, brilliant, saintly Nathaniel David White had started school now. Henry had shot up, moved out and then left for college in Boston.

So one night, after their fevered bodies had come up for air, Regina had casually smoothed a stray strand of blonde hair from Emma's eyes, and suggested they get away from it all.

Emma realised it was just the welcome diversion she needed. A circuit breaker from small-town mundaneness, suspicious sideways glances still thrown at Regina for the mere act of breathing, and the perfect happy families strolling the streets of which she'd never entirely be a part.

But now they were here, in Europe, and it had been peculiar to say the least.

When Regina had first asked her to leave the itinerary to her, Emma had agreed.

"Don't worry, dear," she'd told her, "I'll give us plenty of variety. How does a dozen countries sound?''

And it sounded just fine. Now, though, she realised, she probably should have asked Regina to specify them. Because eclectic didn't even begin to describe their insanely zig-zagging geographical path that had no rhyme or reason.

First up had been Andorra, but Regina had, mystifyingly, said little about it beyond that she didn't like sharing.

At least Emma had acquired a great coffee travel mug in Andorra.

They had meandered into Belgium next, after which Regina declared it "had potential, especially in light of their post-war record which is exceptional". Emma had stared at her in confusion but Regina had merely kissed any questions off her lips.

From Belgium Emma had acquired an ardent addiction to fine dark chocolate. And to Regina's even finer kisses.

Scandinavia followed on Regina's Itinerary Without Logic. She had immersed herself thoughtfully in the history and culture of Norway and Sweden, devoured their popular media with avid interest. But all too soon she seemed restless to move on before a pouting Emma could even get her first skiing lesson in.

Still, Emma had acquired the most gorgeous faux fur-lined leather gloves for Regina (who wore them everywhere thereafter) and a seriously dorky knitted beanie for herself with ear flaps.

Regina forbade her from wearing it in her presence on pain of sleeping on the hotel couch when they got to Denmark.

Denmark had made Regina's eyes light up when she'd spotted its queen as they passed through the fashionable district of Copenhagen. Queen Margrethe II was clearly visible through the glass windows at the opening of an upmarket art exhibition. Her Majesty's own work, it turned out.

Regina's mouth had fallen open in surprise. "That's right, she's also an artist," she'd said to herself, pausing mid-step. Emma, who narrowly avoided running into her back, had squinted at her girlfriend in confusion.

"We must go in," Regina declared, "as we're fellow art appreciators."

"We are?"

Regina ignored her and eagerly strode forward, her fine black dress not looking even slightly out of place at the fancy event. Emma, on the other hand...

Two neckless security guards at the front door to the glitzy gallery/cafe eyeballed Emma and then pointed to a sign. Emma couldn't read a lick of Danish but she got the message: Private party, move along uninvited tourists.

Emma nudged her girlfriend. "It's 'no entry' for us, Regina." She nodded to the sign.

"Oh, please, that doesn't apply to visiting dignitaries," Regina said flippantly. She eyed the guards thoughtfully. "But let's find the back door."

"Um, dignitaries?" Emma began, trailing after her. "Don't you usually have to come from a joint with more than 1200 people to be one of those? And you aren't exactly officially mayor anymore."

"Semantics, dear," Regina breezed and waved her hand, leading the way behind the building.

Emma followed in complete confusion, still clutching the bags of shopping she'd somehow accumulated when Regina insisted on improving her wardrobe beyond "Blind hobo chic".

It was funny how rear alleys behind fancy-pants buildings all look pretty much the same the world over, Emma mused, as her partner in crime pointed to a delivery van blocking much of the small, grimy street.

"Hide behind there and put on the new Chanel dress," Regina said authoritatively as though well skilled in the art of party crashing.

_Maybe she was._

"But you bought the Chanel for yourself."

"And now I'm loaning it to you. Hurry up. No one will believe you're invited wearing that absurd outfit. You're not even pulling off 'artistically eccentric' right now."

Emma eyeballed her jeans, boots and sweater combo and decided not to take offense. Regina's inner bitch always came out when she was excited or nervous. Or, in this case, both. She quickly shed one outfit and grabbed the dress, shimmying into it with practiced ease as Regina kept a watchful eye on her and their surrounds.

"You've done this before," the brunette suddenly accused, sliding hands to trim hips.

"What - changing into a $4000 frock in a back alley to infiltrate a royal art exhibition? Yeah right.''

"I meant the speedy clothes-swap bit," Regina frowned and waggled her fingers in her direction. "Your far-too-expedient wardrobe change tells me you either have a secret superhero identity or you've done this sort of thing many times in the past."

"Oh, well, yeah. I learned how to do a quick costume switcheroo when I was working in Sadie's Strip Club and Bordello. Nothing loses you tips from horny men faster than not being back on stage within 30 seconds."

The sucking lemons look on Regina's face told Emma she probably should have quit while she was behind.

"Too much information?" she asked innocently and turned, waiting for Regina to zip her up. She felt soft hands brush against the small of her back and then a somewhat vicious jerk as the zipper shot up.

"I would say so, dear," Regina growled quietly. "I don't wish to picture you sharing yourself with anyone but me."

"Hey I didn't even know you then," Emma protested, leaning forward to check her reflection in the darkened windows of the van. "And it was all strictly business. I was staking out a target."

"Mmm," Regina replied. "Just as well."

She felt fingertips lift her hair out from inside the back of the dress before trailing against her neck. "I don't share." Regina's whispered words contained a hint of warning and dangerous sexuality that gave the blonde an involuntary shiver.

Emma hid her reaction behind a weak chuckle as she turned around and dropped a chaste kiss on the pressed lips in front of her. "You hide it so well, hon."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that."

"I know," Emma grinned and leaned down to slip on her new pair of red-soled heels Regina had insisted on buying her.

Emma curled back up to full height and smoothed her stunning green dress and eyed Regina. "Well? Fit for a royal audience?"

Regina didn't say anything. Just stared at her with half-lidded eyes and unconsciously licked her lips. She gave a short, slightly wobbly, nod.

"OK then," Emma smirked. "I'll take that as a yes. Where do you want to stash our stuff until we get back out here again?"

The former mayor pointed to a sturdy, nearly new, cardboard packing box wedged behind a steel industrial rubbish bin. "This should do nicely. We won't be long anyway."

"Yes, but what exactly ARE we doing?"

Regina smiled. "Just admiring some art."

"Uh huh."

"Come along, dear, your cynicism is showing." Regina curled a hand around Emma's forearm and led her towards the rear door.

They could smell the gallery's working kitchen and Emma heard Regina hiss: "Say nothing and follow my lead. Remember: in these situations uncertainty is your enemy."

At that Regina lifted her head to a regal height, dropped her hand off Emma's arm and swished through the doors like an empress who'd merely taken a wrong turn through the kitchen.

Emma scurried behind her, watching in astonishment as she blew past the kitchen staff, who barely paused in their chopping and peeling duties, and stalked past the single security member guarding the door at the end of the room. Regina offered him an imperious backhanded wave and a withering glare when he barked something at her in Danish.

Regina's disdainful expression crossed all language barriers, implying he was a boot-scraping cretin for not recognizing exactly who she was. That she clearly was _Someone_. And a _Someone_ who was not to be waylaid by boot-scraping cretins.

His uncertainty as his eyebrows knitted in confusion was all Regina needed and she swiftly propelled them both past, a hand pushing firmly against the small of Emma's back.

The guard stepped back into the shadows looking like a whipped puppy.

Emma exhaled slowly and loudly as the brunette led them to the sound of clinking glasses of champagne.

"Really, dear," Regina said softly, a smug smile curling her lips. "You must learn to relax."

"But that security guard..."

"Will have been ordered not to leave his door under any circumstances. And remember, haughty is a universal language I happen to be fluent in. Now this way, dear, and do close your mouth."

They rounded a corner and discovered themselves amidst a distinguished arty crowd, almost entirely clustered around a royal coterie on the far side of the room. The gallery walls were covered with artworks, which Emma had to admit were both intricate and beautiful.

"They're all signed 'Ingahild Grathmer'," Regina said thoughtfully. "Margrethe's pseudonym. She cares about her art a great deal to go to the effort create a different identity."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Great. Can we just get over there, do the meet-and-greet and blow this popsicle stand?"

"Patience, dear. She will come to us."

"Huh? How do you figure?"

"Because we're the only ones fixated on her _art_, not her. And at her heart she is an artist who thrives on feedback like all the rest. Trust me."

Emma stared at Regina and finally shrugged turning back to the wall to peer at the works. She read one note, helpfully written in both English and Danish.

_Huh? Her Majesty illustrated for Lord of the Rings? What the?_

Regina, astonishingly, was not wrong. Soon enough the artist and reigning monarch gracefully moved to their side, waving off her inner circle, her face a picture of curiosity. Emma wisely said nothing and let the two women size each other up.

Regina, at her charming best, was virtually preening.

_God_. Emma was dying for a nice cold beer and looked miserably at the trays of bubbly and canapes going by. _Who could ever live off posh food and drinks?_

She tuned back into the conversation to hear a surreal three minutes worth of art discussion. To Emma's complete astonishment, Regina was thoroughly knowledgeable on the topic. The two women were getting into angles of brush strokes and lighting when the queen's personal secretary appeared and gave Regina a hard, cold look, leaning over to whisper in Margrethe's ear.

The queen listened then tilted her head back to Regina and spoke, her eyebrow lifting: "I understand from my assistant that you were not invited."

Sharp blue eyes fixed on the brunette and flicked over to Emma and back. "You are not, what is the English saying?, of this group?" Her hand waved at the upper echelon of socialites and art appreciators in the room who seemed to have fallen silent and were watching with undisguised fascination. Her meaning was quite clear, if perfectly politely expressed.

Emma swallowed. _Oh crap._ The woman she loved had one fatal flaw: Don't ever challenge her ego or make her feel small.

The sheriff held her breath.

But, sure enough...

Two minutes later they were back out on the street, a pair of guards snarling at them in a way that, again, needed no translation.

"Why'd you have to say that to her?" Emma protested. "That was freaking embarrassing. Now she thinks we're nuts."

Regina eyed her grimly, her ego clearly vastly dented. She folded her arms across her chest and seethed. "Why not? It was accurate."

Emma sighed as they headed back to the alleyway to get their things. She gritted her teeth. Swanning around Europe with Madam Mayor was nothing like it was cracked up to be.

From Denmark, Emma acquired some kick-ass fashion and a throbbing headache. Plus the Danish words for "go away". (At least she hoped that's all _ga vaek_ meant.)

The Netherlands was next and Regina barely broke stride, beyond scowling at all Emma's juvenile lesbian double-entendres about the nation's famous canal systems.

"I swear you are such a child sometimes, except that's insulting to children," Regina finally snapped.

Emma had merely sniggered but promised not to make stupid jokes when they looked at the world-famous Delta Project of sluices and dikes. Regina had humphed impressively but agreed.

Emma, unfortunately, failed to keep her end of the bargain.

From The Netherlands, Emma acquired an understanding of the limits of Regina's sense of humour. And a love of stroopwafels and poffertjes.

Liechtenstein they'd visited next but Regina had cut short the trip declaring the place "supremely sexist". Emma had frowned at that.

"The people were nothing but friendly to us, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Not the people, dear. They were fine. It was the rest of it."

_Huh?_

In Liechtenstein Emma acquired a fancy polished wooden cuckoo clock. Regina initially recoiled at it in horror until the blonde explained it was a gift for her parents. The former mayor's eyes had lit up as she gave a positively evil smile and muttered something about the "gift that keeps on giving, every hour on the hour".

Luxembourg followed. Emma had barely time to snap a picture of one famous landmark before her girlfriend had turned away from some confused, wide-eyed locals she'd been interrogating, shook her head dramatically, and declared they were moving on to Monaco.

From the tiny nation of Luxembourg Emma had acquired a photo of the Adolphe Bridge, with the back of Regina's blurred head in the side of the frame, as she turned to tell her it was time to go.

Now Monaco, Regina _loved_. She pulled on her wide sunglasses, a white scarf and silky cream blouse and wide forties-style black pants and demanded they rent a convertible and take to the roads.

"I think I've seen this movie, Regina," Emma declared, eyeing her woman morphing into Grace Kelly. "It doesn't end well. Careful how you hug the hill bends."

Regina had sniffed and tossed Emma the car keys. Nothing kept the smile off her face, though, as they traveled the open roads and took in the stunning scenery. The shopping had pleased the brunette no end, as had the well-heeled, charming, cosmopolitan inhabitants. The casinos Regina had merely rolled her eyes at and waved off Emma to have a flutter while she took in a show.

The next morning, after avidly devouring the local papers, Regina had scowled and looked up, screwing up the news print.

"It's a tax haven," she muttered. "All of it. Everyone here - they're all about ripping off their respective governments."

"Minimizing their taxes, you mean," Emma said with a grin. "Why do you care?"

Regina gaped at her. "It's _treason_ to steal or hide your true income from your government. What is wrong with these people?" she barked, askance. She pulled out their passports and slapped them on the table pointedly. "Come on, we're leaving."

Ah. Sometimes Emma forgot Regina used to run her own kingdom.

Shame. Emma had liked Monaco. Even if the casino had laundered her funds pretty liberally.

From Monaco, Emma took home some fiscal prudence.

Spain was next. But before Emma had even gotten through her first, insanely delicious, paella, Regina had suggested they shouldn't dally too long, when Vatican City was apparently THE place to be.

Emma had scowled and dropped her fork in irritation. They'd then had their first holiday argument. To hell Emma had wanted to leave the culinary paradise her stomach was foodgasming over and go there.

"No," she'd said. "And try the paella, it's fan-fucking-tastic."

"NO?!"

"No. And when are we going to Paris? All I asked to see was the Eiffel Tower. But I bet it's not even on your crazy-assed itinerary, is it?''

"Why would we want to go there?" Regina asked, perplexed.

"Hello - romance? City of Love? Really awesome bread sticks?"

Regina snorted. "Please, dear, don't be ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous about that? It's less ridiculous than what you said to the Queen of freaking Denmark."

"Don't bring that up again."

"Then let's go to Paris."

"Vatican City," Regina replied, lips tightening. "And that's final." Her eyes were now glinting dangerously. Emma sighed. Downside of loving an ex evil queen is they never truly forget how to do their former job.

From Spain Emma acquired a far-too-shortlived love of paella.

So they'd headed to Vatican City. Emma, still missing her paella and peeved she had exactly zero input into their destinations, had sulked the entire way there. She also sulked the whole time they were actually there. She sulked when they met three, admittedly adorable, singing nuns and one cardinal who'd taken one knowing look at them and given them the stinky eye. And she sulked the entire time they sat on the Eurostar to London.

Regina had attempted to smooth things over but, unless she finally explained the world's most mystifying sight-seeing trip, Emma was having none of it.

"Buckingham Palace?" the blonde said flatly as their taxi pulled up to their latest destination. "_Oh yay_."

Regina lowered her travel brochure and paid the driver. "Still complaining, dear? This was supposed to be one of the 'fifty must-see destinations before you die'. Do you wish to die before seeing this?"

"I'd be OK with that."

They both silently climbed out of the black vehicle. Regina turned to peer at her intently as it pulled away.

"You've been in a bad mood since Spain."

"Because you're providing me with the world's weirdest vacation." Emma's jaw jutted out.

"I really don't see how. Now come on, it's just turned eleven. The changing of the guard is due soon."

_Of course it was._

Emma stood by morosely and watched the fabled Guardsmen, with their tall fuzzy hats and sleek red uniforms, stride, turn, and generally put on a tourist-friendly show without once losing their timing or blank, stoic expressions.

After it was over, Emma muttered sarcastically, "Wow".

Regina gave her her most imperious glare. "Would you rather be back in Storybrooke watching your parents tell you about the unending genius that is their other child?"

Emma bit her lip and looked at her shoes. "Fair point."

At Regina's uncharacteristic silence to her admission of defeat, Emma looked up again and realised the brunette was no longer beside her. She glanced around and spotted her trying to engage a sentry guard in conversation. O_h crap._

She wondered if she should tell Regina they were pretty famous for just standing like statues, not actually responding to anyone unless direly provoked.

On the other hand, Regina had all the answers, Emma grumbled to herself, so she simply crammed her fists into her pockets and watched it play out from afar.

The former mayor spoke animatedly to the man. Now she was pointing beyond the gates. Then asking more questions.

The foot guard, as was protocol, completely ignored her.

Now Regina was getting seriously irritated if the set of her shoulders was anything to go by. She clearly wasn't taking being ignored well. Emma smirked in spite of her mood.

The man's right foot suddenly stomped loudly against the concrete ground as he barked loudly: "Stand back from the guard!"

_Oh fuck. Time to step in._ Emma quickly hurried over before the man got to see the pointy side of Regina's foul temper.

"I don't think they're allowed to speak to tourists, Regina," she murmured soothingly into her ear. "Don't take it personally."

"But I'm not a mere tourist," she snapped. It was the angriest Emma had seen her in ages.

"No? Then what are you?"

"I am a representative of my government, seeking information pertaining to this imbecile's Head of State! Is that too much to ask?"

"You're a what? You wanna do what?!"

Regina sighed and sagged and turned away.

"You're right," she muttered. "I'm nothing. Nothing at all. Let's go back to the hotel."

Regina's mood had been sinking into a bleak hole the entire trip back. Emma bit her lip. The way she'd said "I'm nothing" was kind of heartbreaking.

She knew Regina had been feeling bad since Storybrooke stripped her mayoral title off her six years ago, even if she still did most of her old job. That had to bite. But she'd kind of thought she was used to it by now.

They made their way silently up the lift to their room and Regina kicked off her low heels and flopped unceremoniously on the bed. It was the most un-Regina action she'd ever witnessed. The other woman hadn't even taken off her crumpled red blazer.

Emma eyed her thoughtfully as her mind ticked through their odd itinerary, trying to now see it through the perspective of someone who felt they might be on 'government' business. She slowly considered all the countries they'd visited, one by one.

Suddenly her eyes widened, understanding dawning. "They were all monarchies," she whispered.

"Yes dear," Regina muttered, not bothering to argue.

"Even Vatican City."

"Yes."

"So what was this trip, _really_?"

"Research," Regina mumbled. "I wanted to see how these real-world monarchies work. _Whether_ they work. What the people think of them, what the practicalities of them are. I suppose you might call it, the general vibe."

"So that's why you said in Andorra that you don't like sharing. It has two ruling monarchs."

Regina gave a sharp nod.

"And Liechtenstein? You called it sexist."

"They have an antiquated monarchy where all women are excluded from reigning unless no male heirs of any kind, no matter how lowly in the royal family tree, are present. I did not like that one bit."

"Well that hardly matters since you're not a monarch under Liechtenstein's constitution - or any other."

"Don't remind me, dear."

"I shouldn't _have_ to remind you. Unless there's a coup, this whole thing is ridic..."

Emma suddenly stopped. "Oh shit! Regina, are you planning a coup?"

Regina snorted. "I wish. But no."

"Then why all this?"

"I can dream can't I? Or maybe ... suggest a better way of governance, or something? Surely this nonsense of me being pseudo mayor can't go on forever. I can't stand it, Emma. I receive no respect for the work I do. No one can even stand me. If I was a queen this wouldn't even be an issue."

"But..." Emma let the words 'you're not going to be a queen' die on her lips.

She changed tack. "So why'd you call Belgium exceptional?"

"They understand that people sometimes make mistakes," Regina said with an aggrieved sigh. "Did you know in 1950 they had a vote to decide whether their king should be allowed to return to the throne despite some, well, possibly treasonous activities during the war? He stood down anyway, but still ..." Regina stopped and swallowed. "They voted _yes_, Emma."

The blonde watched as Regina shut her eyes and hurt flickered across her face. Emma swallowed and changed the subject.

"So why'd you like the Vatican so much? I mean, it's way more sexist than Liechtenstein's monarchy, and a hell of a lot more conservative. It's hardly the model for anything Storybrooke might consider adopting."

"Now that's where you're wrong," Regina smiled softly and her eyes opened wide. "It was beautiful. An entire city that celebrated art and history. It had a rich culture, costuming, tradition and pomp and ceremony. And aside from some fairly backward and regrettable views about women and sexuality and so on, it came the closest to my old home that I remember."

"Wait, all that over-the-top nonsense and the fancy outfits made you ... homesick?"

"I suppose so," Regina sighed in defeat. "Is this where you tell me I'm just a deluded, silly old fool of a woman?"

Emma heard the quaver in her voice. She climbed onto the bed and curled up next to her, spooning her, and then wrapped an arm over her stomach, pulling her tight against her.

"No, never," Emma whispered. "I get it. Homesick for the familiar. Missing a time and place where you had status, real responsibility and power. I understand. And it sucks how you're being given all the duties back home and none of the rights. Especially after all this time. No wonder you're dreaming about the alternatives and the old ways. So, first thing when we get back I'm going to talk to Snow and the council about it. It's time you got your title back and the honor that comes with it."

"The people won't like that," Regina murmured. "They'll fight it."

"Somehow I don't think so. They might still be a little mad with you, but no one seriously believes Mayor Beatrice Willow, public servant, is really actually the mayor."

"I always loathed that woman," Regina sniffed. "She can barely find the tabulate button on a town budget spreadsheet. She was a former woodland creature, for God's sake. Woodland creatures shouldn't be left to balance budgets!"

"I know hon, she sucks. You rock. End of."

Regina sniffed in agreement. She cleared her throat.

"I apologize for being so dogmatic in my desire to get through my travel list. I suppose we could divert to Paris on the way home to see this ridiculous tourist-trap of a tower of yours."

Emma beamed. "Awright, now we're talking. But, hey, we're here now, anything else you want to do in London first?"

"Well," Regina paused. "I understand that Queen Elizabeth is planning a garden party tomorrow afternoon. I had been asking that guard how one gains attendance but the insolent man failed to respond. Perhaps we could gatecrash anyway and I could ask her..."

"NO! Hell, Regina, no more crashing monarch's parties. They shoot you for less! Shit!"

"I was only joking, dear," she smirked and patted Emma's hand. "You really are far too easy."

"Well after Queen Margrethe, I wasn't too sure."

"That again?"

"You really didn't have to ask her how she coped having to 'endure such annoyingly inferior and insufferable minions' or add that when you ruled a realm, your staff were 'considerably brighter' than Margrethe's," Emma began, rolling her eyes. "And you do know the modern world's monarchs are, like, a club and they all know everyone else? It's little wonder the poor woman looked at you like you had two heads. Well, right before that personal assistant virtually exploded and called for security."

"Well I WAS a queen," Regina complained and huffed. "And her condescending assistant was implying I didn't belong there and was beneath their hoity little social circle.

"For God's sake, Emma, I was once the most powerful woman in the world! I was, despite my well-chronicled flaws, _great_ once. I was ... _someone_. Not just some pathetic former mayor from a tinpot curse town not even fit to discuss art with."

She made an aggrieved noise.

"I know, Regina, I know." Emma squeezed her hand. "But, hey, you're still a queen to me." She paused for a moment and then grinned. "So how's about we elevate you to new heights, hmm?"

She leaned over and affected an eyebrow waggle that looked more ridiculous than sexy until Regina laughed in spite of herself.

"I suppose that could be arranged," Regina conceded regally and rolled them over. She drew her head up and added imperiously: "Her Majesty will see you now."

Then she lowered her lips to Emma's and kissed her thoroughly and lovingly.

"God yes," the blonde mumbled and kissed her back with fervor.

* * *

**Epilogue**

The marvelous view from the Eiffel Tower in Paris pleased its newest tourist greatly. But Emma wasn't looking at the city below. She took in the dancing brown eyes of her thoroughly sexy girlfriend with her back to the city skyline and elbows leaning on the balcony railing.

Regina had a tiny quirk of a smile and was pretending oh-so terribly hard to be indifferent to the city of love, because Emma had nagged her so much about going. But the sheriff knew she secretly adored everything about it, from its rich black coffees and beautifully dressed women to its crispy, buttery croissants that elicited almost indecent sounds from Regina's smacking red lips.

Emma's eyes slid over her affectionately, completely ignoring the stunning backdrop below, and decided that she'd never seen any view more beautiful in her life.

She grinned happily.

From France, Emma took home the woman she loved.

**THE END**

**Author's note:** Here's 3-piece-suit's story prompt. _"Post-curse, established SQ. Regina and Emma are going to Europe. Emma thinks that its just a trip but Regina has a plan: She wants to check how modern monarchies work and maybe become a queen again. Bonus points if she confronts Margrethe II or Elizabeth II. Humour/crack."_


End file.
